


Chance

by Dulin



Series: Welcome Home Arc [4]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-28
Updated: 2012-08-28
Packaged: 2017-11-13 02:41:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/498546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dulin/pseuds/Dulin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vincent needs some human contacts and finds Cid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chance

Cid doesn’t ask questions.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to. Vincent only gives him bits and pieces, glimpses of the young man he once was. Cid’s curious for more, but he knows better than to ask. That’s the best way to make Vincent clam up and disappear for weeks.

Cid has decided that he’s too old for this shit, and he isn’t fond of the silent treatment. So he doesn’t ask. He just takes what’s offered, tries to give as much back, and holds onto the pieces that Vincent gives him.

That’s why he isn’t too surprised to see that the corner near the window is a little darker than it should be when he finally gets in to crash after giving the night off to the crew. The delivery to Mideel was a last-minute job, and he has no idea of just how Vincent managed to find out about it. Including which boarding house Cid’s staying at, and in which room.

Cid scratches his head, takes out a cigarette from an almost flattened pack, and lights up.

“They’d have let you come up if you’d just asked for me at reception.”

Vincent doesn’t answer. He’s staring. Cid sighs and takes a long drag from his cigarette.

“You know what? I’m tired, I’m smelly, and I’m not in the mood for games tonight, Vince.”

Vincent blinks.

“I’m not playing.”

“… Sure. Whatever you say. I’m taking a shower. Why don’t you just… do whatever you were doing sitting there in that corner until I’m done?”

Cid doesn’t wait for an answer he knows won’t come. He turns around, removes the goggles from around his neck and throws them on the bed. The gloves follow, and he stubs out his cigarette on the nightstand before taking off his t-shirt. His dog tags cling softly as he pulls it over his head.

He’s about to unbuckle his belt when a gloved hand covers his. As usual, he hasn’t even heard Vincent move. One moment he was sitting in the far corner and the next, standing right behind Cid, close enough that the frayed edges of that freaky cloak are tickling Cid’s back.

“Took you long enough,” Cid groans.

“I thought we weren’t playing games.”

“…Right. Don’t know why I said that, really.”

Vincent pushes Cid’s hand away, deftly undoing the belt and the buttons on the fatigues.  Any other day, Cid would just let him go on, but…

“C’mon, Vince, I’m sweaty and I smell…”

“I don’t care.”

Vincent voice has dropped, closer to a growl than actual words, with such hunger in them that Cid has to take a few seconds to catch his breath. He knows he’s no slouch in the looks department himself if you like the rugged, unshaved type, but Vincent … Well, let’s just say Vincent doesn’t exactly play in the same category, and he’d have his pick if he bothered to look.

But he doesn’t. He just wanders around doing whatever the fuck Vincent does when he’s on his own. And then, every once in a while, he comes back to Cloud or Cid for that little bit of human warmth that he pretends he doesn’t need.

Cid suspects Vincent has a thing for blue-eyed blondes, even though he’d never try to compare himself to Cloud. The kid’s way too pretty for his own good, and way too fucked up. And what Vincent and Cloud share is on a level that he doesn’t even want to try and understand.

Cid sighs again and elbows Vincent. Not too hard, but hard enough for Vincent to stop nibbling on his ear and take a step back.

“Oi, at least get some of that stuff off. Just looking at you makes me hot.”

Vincent raises an eyebrow, and Cid rolls his eyes.

 “You know what I mean, damn it,” he grumbles.

That small twitch of Vincent’s mouth behind the collar could be a smile, but Cid ignores it and flops down on the bed as Vincent starts undoing the buckles on his cloak.

Cid tried taking the leather off Vincent once. He had to give up after fifteen minutes of looking for which zipper to pull. As far as Cid’s concerned, clothes should be functional. Making the person in them look good is a nice bonus, but that mostly means you’re gonna take them off at one point. There’s no way having a billion zippers and buckles on your outfit is functional, and it really makes it a pain to take off.

“Don’t fall asleep.”

Vincent’s voice cuts through Cid’s thoughts, making him blink at the ceiling.

“Don’t be a slowpoke and I won’t. Some of us actually need sleep every once in a while, y’know?”

He can already hear the sound of Vincent’s bare feet coming closer. There must be a secret zipper in there somewhere, one that magically opens the whole thing in less than thirty seconds. That’s the only logical explanation for how Vincent always manages to get that thing off before Cid can align two coherent thoughts.

There’s a tug on his ankles as Vincent pulls on the laces, loosening them so Cid can toe them the boots away. Then the bed dips and Vincent crawls up to him, settling down the way he always does, straddling Cid’s thighs, both hands splayed out on Cid’s torso. The claw on Vincent’s left hand is heavy and cool to the touch, and Cid squirms when it hits his skin.

“Careful with that thing. I still have scars from last time.”

Vincent’s mouth twitches and his face gets closer, until his breath is hot in Cid’s ear when he speaks.

“Sorry.”

“And if you break the bed, you’re paying for it.”

“… You didn’t complain when I broke yours.”

“And I ain’t gonna complain if you break this one. You sort it out with the lady downstairs, okay?”

“I will.”

Cid grins and grabs a handful of Vincent’s hair.

“Alright then. Do your thing.”

Vincent isn’t very big on foreplay, and Cid’s okay with that. They both know why they’re here, and they’re both after the same thing so there’s no point in dragging things out. But that first kiss they share, it usually tells Cid more about Vincent than words could. When your partner is known for answering a simple ‘how are you?’ with a stare, you take what you can. And Vincent never resists the tug on his hair, so Cid figures he’ll keep doing it for as long as he can get away with it.

“No fangs this time?”

The only answer to that is a nip at Cid’s lips, and then in the crook of Cid’s neck, over the two small puncture wound scars. They’ve healed since last time of course, but the marks are still there and Cid doesn’t feel like using a Cure to remove them. If anyone asks, he just tells them using materia for such a small thing is a waste.

Vincent changes position, pulling the zipper on Cid’s pants and slipping his hand inside.

“… I thought you were tired,” he says as he finds Cid’s erection and goes down the length of it with the tip of a finger.

“Hey, my brain’s tired. Never said anything about other parts of my anatomy, did I?”

“Maybe I should stop then. If your brain is too tired, you won’t be enjoying this properly.”

Cid scoffs.

“As if… How long has it been anyway?”

“Thirty-two days.”

There’s a beat or two of silence.

“Please tell me you’re not actually keeping tabs,” Cid groans.

Vincent doesn’t answer. He just cocks his head to the side when Cid looks at him, as if daring him to correct the number, and Cid shakes his head.

“You know, if you miss me that bad, you could stop by more often.”

“… I know.”

“It’s not like you can’t find me anywhere I go, right? I mean, you could…” Cid’s voice trails away as Vincent’s hand suddenly accelerates its rhythm and Cid’s hips start moving on their own.

“I know,” Vincent says again.

It’s one of those days when Cid feels like it’s best to just lie down and let Vincent take what he wants. Sometimes, he thinks that’s why Vincent keeps coming back, because Cid can read his mood and go with the flow without ever pushing. If Vincent wants to be pounded into the mattress until he blacks out, then Cid does it. And if he wants to take charge and use Cid’s body as his own personal sex toy, then Cid lies back and keeps his hand to himself until Vincent says he can touch. From Cid’s point of view, he’s getting the better end of the deal, so he’s not about to complain either way.

“The lube’s… in my pack,” he says.

Vincent’s hand slows down, almost stopping entirely, and Cid gives a light punch to the other man’s shoulder. Well, he meant it to be a light punch, but it’s probably a little more forceful than that. You can’t blame a man in the middle of getting a fantastic hand job for not controlling his strength.

“I know what you’re thinking, and I’m not doing it,” he says through gritted teeth. “Get the lube.”

Cid doesn’t really care that Vincent gets off on some pain mixed in with his pleasure. You’d think a guy who spent years being basically tortured wouldn’t want to repeat the experience, but Cid guesses it’s one of those things he shouldn’t ask too much about. Besides, he can do rough if Vincent wants him to, and he’s done his fair share of biting and bruising, but he draws the line at dry-fucking.

But of course, Vincent has to act like a diva. The way he’s sulking, Cid could almost believe that the three seconds it takes to grab the small tube are worse than Meteor Fall.

Cid hisses when the cool gel hits his overheated skin without warning. Vincent is looking smug, like he’s got Cid exactly where he wants him. And he probably does, too. For a guy who says he’s not playing, he’s sure good at it when he gets into it.

“Fuck you, Valentine.”

Vincent smiles this time, a real smile, and comes closer to graze his teeth against Cid’s throat.

“That’s the plan,” he says as he moves into position, guiding Cid inside of him and slowly moving down.

Cid isn’t quite sure that the sounds coming out his mouth are actual words, and he might just have woken up everyone who was attempting to sleep on the same floor as them. Then again, someone has to make up for the fact that drawing anything louder than a breathy moan from Vincent’s mouth during sex is actually impossible. Cid knows, he’s tried enough times.

It’s not that Vincent isn’t enjoying himself. Cid has learnt to read the signs over time. Vincent starts breathing faster and his eyes get hazy, biting down on his bottom lip the way he is right now as he starts moving on top of Cid. And when Cid thrusts up to meet him, his breath hitches in his throat, and his legs start to shake with the effort he makes to keep up with it.

Cid sometimes wonders if Vincent acts the same with Cloud. He should probably ask just to mess with the kid. It was too adorable, watching him go scarlet just because Marlene asked about the bite marks.

 And if Vincent keeps biting the same place, fangs or no fangs, the marks are going to become permanent because Cid doesn’t have SOLDIER super-healing, or whatever it is that usually makes Cloud’s injuries disappear after a few hours.

They’ve fallen into their rhythm now, Vincent moving up and down and breathing hard against Cid’s neck and Cid taking advantage of the fact that Vincent apparently forgot to tell him to keep his hands to himself. He can’t reach between them to get Vincent off, so he’s settled for grabbing Vincent’s hip with one hand, driving Vincent down more forcefully to meet his thrusts. His other hand goes for the hair again, pulling a little to make Vincent raise his head and kiss him.

Give it some more time and Vincent starts shivering, a full body shiver, and the muscles in his thighs tense up almost convulsively as he increases his speed. He’s put the claw out of the way, but Cid can hear the wood of the headboard groaning under the pressure. He isn’t too surprised when it breaks just as Vincent comes, eyes closed and biting down on Cid’s neck hard enough to draw blood.

Cid comes too as Vincent’s muscles clench around him, cursing a blue streak the whole way as usual. Vincent’s body is going slack already as he’s falling into that weird, black-out state that he slips into after sex. He probably won’t be out of it for another minute or two. Cid doesn’t feel like moving right now, but he really, really needs a smoke.

Grabbing his pack on the nightstand with Vincent still on top of him is a little more acrobatic than he feels up to, but he manages and lights up just as Vincent’s eyes flutter open.

“Morning, sunshine.”

Vincent scrunches his nose and looks at the cigarette disapprovingly, but doesn’t say anything. It’s not like the smoke can kill him anyway, and Cid doesn’t care to hear lectures about his health from a guy who can have half of his ribcage crushed by a behemoth and be walking around like nothing happened a few hours later.

“You broke the bed again,” Cid says, pulling a shard of wood from Vincent’s hair.

“Maybe we should stop doing this in a bed, then,” Vincent answers as he finally rolls away from his position on top of Cid to sprawl beside him on the bed sheets.

“No way. I’m too old for that ‘up against the wall’ shit. And you’re too heavy. You want acrobatics, ask Cloud.”

Vincent blinks at him, and Cid snorts.

“…Or maybe not. Wouldn’t want him to spontaneously combust from embarrassment.”

One thing is sure, Vincent isn’t one to be embarrassed. Not in front of Cid, at least. He’s getting up and stretching and not giving a damn that Cid’s cum is running down his leg as he makes his way to the bathroom and disappears inside.

Cid doesn’t join him. You have to give a guy like Vincent his space, and let him come to you on his own.  Instead, he lights a new cigarette with the old one, and then removes the pants that Vincent was in too much of a hurry to take off him. He’ll have to wash them in the bathroom sink and hope they dry before the morning.

It only takes a few minutes for Vincent to come back out, and he immediately starts putting the leather on again. When he’s dressed, he moves to the window and opens it, only stopping for one last look. Cid smiles and flicks him a salute with his cigarette.

“See you in thirty-two days.”


End file.
